


Ethereal

by InvincibleRodent



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bittersweet, Fluff and Angst, Future Character Death, M/M, Non-Canonical Character Death, Original Character Death(s), Post-Game(s), Spirits, The Fade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:38:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5188967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvincibleRodent/pseuds/InvincibleRodent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Chantry teaches that after our death, those who are worthy pass through the Fade to take their place by the Maker’s side.</p><p>Some may decide to linger.</p><p>(Inquisitor written with intentional vagueness- I had my Raymond Trevelyan in mind, but I think I only mention that his eyes are blue like once, and I sometimes refer to Dorian as “sweetheart” like he does, but that's about as specific as it gets. May be read with any race and class.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ethereal

**Author's Note:**

> I still have no clue what this is. Is it fluff? Angst? Noncommittal hand gesture and high-pitched ‘eeeengh’ noise? I really don’t know. (Imported from tumblr.)
> 
> Recommended background music: [Crywolf & Ianborg - Ribcage](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4iwgTHyeGo)

Magic is often compared to a song. A relentless symphony that hums in the ears of every child born with the gift of it.

As their years advance, the song grows more complex- it adopts new flourishes, turns to a new rhythm their feet then follow; their own little dance. Some favor ceremonious twirls in silver slippers, some the heavy, sensual twists of hips and burning brushes of hungry hands that seem to last forever, and magic always finds a way to dance along.

But one way or another… every song must come to an end. The last notes soar- in a cry of agony, or a soft breath of acknowledgment as the Veil ripples and they slip through, like a pebble thrown into a lake. The musicians put down their instruments, the conductor lays down his baton, and he takes a bow toward the imaginary audience. Thank you for coming. There is no encore.

Death comes for everyone. Eventually. Too soon, or on the contrary, it is greeted like an old friend or a spouse returning home. Some lights flicker before they could even spring into life, and some mothers never get to hold their child’s hand. Some flames wither while they are burning their brightest, as a candle blown out at the end of a long day, while some drown in the wax pooling at their feet, slow and unseen. Nobody may escape death, as it will always wait and reduce even the most exceptional of people to nothing but a few handfuls of flesh and bones. If you only give it enough time.

Eventually, death comes, even for someone as exceptional as the Inquisitor.

* * *

Dorian’s steps are cautious on the uneven ground , slowed by his years dragging at his feet. The grass, an unnaturally brilliant emerald color, licks at his ankles under the robes, and he shivers at the feeling- no matter how many times he visits this place, this touch is one he cannot get used to.

He stabs the blade of his staff into the ground and leans on it heavily as he looks around- this has to be the place. Cannot be far now. The wisps flicker around him, joyful little apparitions- they ruffle his graying hair, tug at his robes, and he shoos them away as if they were but pesky flies. The air is heavy, buzzing with magic, and it distorts his vision… Not that it’s anything like it used to be, but his vanity doesn’t allow him to wear spectacles outside of the library tower. So he strains his eyes against the thick magic in the air, and takes a few deep breaths- like breathing in liquid lyrium, it makes his throat tingle.

Some spirits idly float by, not even paying the mage any mind- there is Valor, Faith, even a tiny spirit of Compassion that gently brushes his arm as it slips by, and he shudders at the contact.The warmth of the spirit’s touch spreads through him, but he doesn’t turn to look; it’s not what he’s looking for. With a sigh, he yanks the staff out of the soft soil, and continues his long trek.

It takes tedious minutes of traipsing in what feels like magical swamp-water before he finally spots the spirit, and he speeds up his steps. He instantly knows- the glowing figure is more human than any other he has come across, and the powerful waves of Hope emanating from it wash over him, envelope him.

The spirit is sitting on a ledge over nothing, in the shade of a large elm -its leaves all the colors any human has ever seen and more-, its back turned to the approaching mage, but it turns to look back over its shoulder when the leaves rustle.

“Dorian.” its warm voice echoes, a lot more distant than it used to be, but it’s filled with the same affection with which the man spoke his name while he was still alive. “You’ve come.”

Dorian can’t help but smile. He drops himself heavily under the tree, and folds his legs under himself with a pained groan- he barely wants to admit, but he might be getting too old for these journeys. “Each time, you wander further and further, amatus. I’m starting to feel like you think I don’t get enough exercise.”

For long seconds, spirit and mage regard each other. Dorian’s eyes linger a little longer over the familiar features than it would be decent- Twenty years have passed, and yet, the spirit still has the features of a man in his late forties. The sharply cut jaw, the lines and scars decorating its face, the slightly upturned corners of its eyes through the soft blue glow. Maker, does he miss those eyes. The spirit turns away again, its gaze fixed on its feet as they dangle over the abyss- an action much more childish and reminiscent of another spirit than it ought to.

“I wasn’t sure you would come.” it says, its voice ethereal, otherworldly. “It has been a while.”

“Did you miss me that much?” Dorian teases through the guilt that blooms in his chest at those words- the spirit is right. It has been a long time since he last ventured into the Fade to search for it. He could blame his near infinite number of duties, his research, or a particularly difficult apprentice, but it would be all lies, and the spirit would know.

It has simply become painful. To see the face of his beloved, without being able to touch him. To feel his own joints growl and groan louder and louder while that face remains the same… It has become painful, and yet, he craves it like an addict craves the sweet sting of lyrium.

“I did.” the spirit nods, the lazy smile still on its lips, as if it read Dorian’s thoughts. “I missed you.”

For minutes, they sit in companionable silence- much like they did so many years ago. Not wrapped in each other’s arms, without the feeling of the other’s warm breath on their skin, and they don’t share those lazy, slow kisses that left his lips tingling and his heart straining against his ribs, threatening to burst out of his chest, but those are but distractions, and he hardly longs for them anymore- or so the mage tells himself.

Words would just be there to fill the silence, so they don’t speak. For a long time. For what feels like hours, until the spirit moves. Its hand reaches out to brush against Dorian’s aged skin, a light flicker of ghostly fingers against his forearm, barely tangible, but the mage still grasps at the echo of a touch, and the spirit’s fingers curl against his own.

“I’m glad you came.” it says, its grip tight, but the feeling is as if Dorian’s hand was submerged in lukewarm water; its eyes fixed on the void over which its legs dangle precariously. “I was almost afraid you had forgotten me.”

“Amatus.”

“I know, I know, you never would. It’s just nice to hear you think it.” a wan smile crosses the spirit’s lips. “Allow this old man his whims.”

A pregnant pause.

“Speaking of old. You’re looking well, for your age.” the spirit says, and the corners of its mouth tug upwards into a shadow of the man’s old smile, and Dorian allows himself to pout.

“That was uncalled for.”

“I didn’t mean it in ill will.” the spirit shrugs, and finally turns to face the man- its legs pull up and tuck under themselves; their knees brush with but the faintest of caresses. “I assure you, you’re just as handsome as the day I met you. The new creases, the gray in your hair… they are a welcome change. They remind me that time hasn’t stopped. That it keeps going, even if I don’t feel it.”

Dorian merely cocks an eyebrow, and tilts his head expectantly. The corners of the spirit’s mouth pinch in thought.

“It’s hard to describe. It’s slow and fast at the same time; minutes and days feel just the same. Sometimes the Void pulls, and I feel like I might fade away… It is watching the lines grow deeper on your face and the silver bloom in your hair that gives me an anchor. It’s what makes me want to stay.”

“Wouldn’t you rather move on, and not wait around in this limbo until I decide to kick the bucket?”

“Eternity is a long time. I need not rush to meet it. I cherish these moments more than I would the comfort of… whatever it is that comes next. I’ll take my place by the Maker’s side when I have to, but until then, I want to stay by yours. Just a little longer.”

Its one hand reaches out to brush against a slightly wrinkled cheek, translucent fingers drawing easy patterns on aged skin. “People are probably looking for you by now.” it sighs heavily, head dropping.

“That eager to be rid of me, amatus?” Dorian flashes a smile that was meant to be sarcastic, but it melts the second his eyes meet the spirit’s.

“My heart bleeds at the very thought of being apart from you again.” it states simply. Too simply. “But, I know I cannot be selfish and demand all of your attention.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before.”

“You mean when I had a physical body, with which I could love you in more ways than just with my silence? When I had arms of flesh and bone with which to hold you, and real lips with which to kiss yours? Forgive me, love, but one would think you’d’ve noticed I have none of those anymore, and there are still more pressing issues. More…  _real_  issues.”

“Nonsense. You are real. Real enough for me, anyway.”

“You’re starting to sound like Solas.”

“And you like Cole, but you don’t hear me complaining.”

The spirit laughs- a bone-chilling, yet welcome sound, both sweetly familiar and painfully different. “Call it an occupational hazard.”

“I will be back soon, amatus.” Dorian returns the caress tenderly, his fingers barely hovering over the spirit’s face, as if he was afraid they might slip through and the apparition disappears. “You know there is only so long I can go without seeing your face.”

“Careful, you might make this old man cry.”

The two separate reluctantly, and Dorian’s joints wail in protest as he tries to push himself up- the spirit rises effortlessly, and Dorian takes offered hand with a roll of his eyes. “I do try.” he sighs “What is it that you always said before leaving Skyhold without me?”

The spirit steps closer, voice low over the whispers of magic. “I will be back before you could even begin to miss me?”

“Yes, exactly that.”

“If that were true, you would never leave.”

The mage’s lips twitch into a bitter smirk. “Does the Herald of Andraste want me to relay a message to his devout followers?”

“Just tell them to keep me in their thoughts. To not lose Hope.” the spirit trails off, its gaze drifting back towards the vast openness. “… and maybe tell Vivienne I would be delighted to see her sometime. I’ve not heard from her in so long. Last time, she was so bright… the wisps liked her.”

Dorian nods. “I’ll be sure to let her know. Until next time, amatus.”

“Take care, sweetheart.”

* * *

Dorian fights the urge to look back over his shoulder as he begins his walk towards the fortress.

Yes, next time.

There is always a next time.

And then another time. And another. And another.

_Walking away might be harder then._

It’s always harder. Every single time, it is harder.

He briefly wonders how much longer until he never has to walk away again.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like, please do take a look at my [tumblr](http://www.weresquirrel.tumblr.com)! [Here](http://weresquirrel.tumblr.com/post/132955557666/ethereal-sfw-one-shot) is a link to the original post of this. Any feedback is welcome! :)


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